


Need to Know: What Stacy Doesn't Know...

by gracefultree



Series: Thought Experiments on House/Wilson Beginnings [5]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:53:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7214002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefultree/pseuds/gracefultree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Stacy doesn't know hurts no one... But then House slips up and she finds out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need to Know: What Stacy Doesn't Know...

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my newest installment in my thought experiment. Based on S2, E11, Need to Know. I have another story based on this episode, too, but it's not finished, polished or shiny. Enjoy!

House woke to the pleasant sensation of someone sucking his dick. Disoriented and distracted, he let himself drift, spreading his legs wider to accommodate his bedmate. There it was, that beautiful combination of suction and tongue… He wasn’t going to last long at this rate. Wilson wasn’t usually a swallower, so he felt the need to warn him. It’d been so long, after all, that Wilson might have forgotten the signs. 

“Mmmm, Wilson, I’m close,” he said softly, reaching for Wilson’s head. Wilson might not like swallowing all the time, but he _loved_ having his hair played with. It was part of why House teased him about his hair so often. 

“Wilson?” Stacy demanded, outraged, pulling off House’s dick. “You’re having sex with _James_?” 

House opened his eyes. Stacy knelt between his legs, naked, and he _remembered…_

“Well, this is a little awkward,” he muttered, looking away. She jumped out of bed and started getting dressed. He pulled the sheet up to cover his softening erection and sighed. “It’s not what you think. It was a long time ago.” 

Stacy paused to look at him. “When? Why didn’t you tell me? Do I need to get tested for everything under the sun?” 

“Five years ago, it’s none of your business, and no. He gets tested regularly, anyway, and by some miracle, he’s never even caught crotch rot.” 

Stacy lowered her arms, dropping her shirt. She sat on the edge of the bed in her underwear and bra. “Five years ago means —“ 

“After you left,” House supplied. “It lasted about three months.” 

“I thought you were straight,” she whispered. 

“I am. So’s he. What’s a few blow jobs between friends?” 

“That’s… all it was?” 

“I needed something to motivate me to go to work. It took away the pain for a few minutes. After a month I felt better enough to reciprocate. It fizzled out when he started dating his wife.” 

“That was quick. Hadn’t Bonnie just left him?” 

“Same week you left me,” House said. “Three days later.” 

They sat in strained silence for a few minutes. 

“Even after all this time, your first instinct is to say his name,” Stacy said. She sounded dejected. “His name, not mine. We just had sex! Why would you say his name? Are you in love with him?” she accused. 

“Of course not! He was just the most recent person I’ve been with. No one survives loving James Wilson for very long,” House said. “Not without a broken heart.” 

“I think I should go,” Stacy said curtly, getting up to get dressed again. 

“Shower before going home to hubby,” House said with a sneer. “Don’t want to smell like another man. We know how jealous he can get.” 

“I don’t even know why I did this,” she exclaimed. “Goodbye, Greg,” she called over her shoulder as she left the room. A moment later he heard the shower. 

House picked up the phone and dialed Wilson’s number. 

“What?” Wilson barked on the other end. He certainly didn’t sound like the sleep-rumpled Wilson House expected or wanted. If Wilson were half-asleep, maybe House could say what he wanted to say and pass it off as a dream in the morning when they next saw each other. 

“I —“ House hesitated. 

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Wilson demanded. 

“Never mind,” House muttered, hanging up. _I miss you,_ he thought to himself. _I’ve missed you for years._

“What?” he snapped when Wilson called back. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” 

“No, you wouldn’t be calling this late if it were nothing. Tell me.” 

“Stacy sucked my cock,” House blurted. 

“Oh, God, I do _not_ need to hear this! You woke me up to tell me —“ 

“I said your name,” House whispered, wondering if Wilson would hear him under his own outrage. The startled silence on the other end of the phone made him think that he had. “I was asleep. She started doing it, like you used to do. I said your name,” he rushed to explain. 

Wilson sighed loudly. “Is she still there?” 

“She’ll be gone in fifteen minutes.” 

“I’ll be there in twenty.” Wilson hung up. 

. 

. 

. 

“My wife thinks we’re at work with an emergency,” Wilson said, stepping past House into his apartment. That explained the shirt and tie, since he couldn’t exactly go in to work in his McGill sweatshirt and jeans the way he probably wanted to be dressed. Wilson had spent years lying to his wives about work and work obligations as a way to hide his affairs, and House assumed he’d perfected the five-minute shower and three-minute dressing routine for just such occurrences. 

The left side of Wilson’s hair spiked up in crazy directions while the right side remained its usual flat flawlessness, albeit a little damp. Clearly, Wilson had taken the hasty shower House expected and spent the car ride running his hand through his hair. House thought it was adorable. 

God, why did he go there so quickly? 

Not that House was one to talk, he reminded himself. His own hair was wet, towel still around his shoulders to catch the moisture. He wore jeans and the cleanest t-shirt he could find on short notice. Strangely enough, it was a Pink Floyd t-shirt with a large rainbow on it. He didn’t want to think of the modern implications of that symbol. He hadn’t bothered with underwear, deciding that if things went in one direction, it would be easier without it, and if they didn’t, Wilson would never know he was going commando. 

They stared at each other in silence, each growing more embarrassed as the seconds ticked by. 

“Maybe we —“ 

“There’s bourbon on —“ 

“Bourbon sounds good,” Wilson said. House nodded and went to get the glasses. The bottle was already on the coffee table. Wilson poured generously. “I didn’t think we’d ever talk about it,” he admitted after the second drink. 

“We’re not,” House replied on instinct. 

“We need to.” 

House frowned into his nearly-empty glass. 

“Being with Stacy, it’s not love anymore,” House said, feeling the strange desire to explain himself. “It was about the thrill of the hunt. About taking her from Mark. Proving I still had it.” 

“I knew it!” Wilson hissed to himself. 

“Yeah, you’re so smart,” House mocked. 

“Shut up. If you’d listened to me from the start, this never would have happened and we wouldn’t be here trying to talk about something we should’ve talked about five years ago.” Wilson poured again. 

“She’s not coming back. She’s gone for good.” 

“Good.” Wilson sipped his drink. He looked over at House. He sighed. “I know you’re just going to mock my insecurity, but… wasn’t I good enough for more than a few months? Wasn’t our friendship worth more than dropping me without an explanation?” 

House gave a bark of angry laughter. “You’re the one who stopped coming by,” he pointed out. “All of a sudden it was gone. What was I supposed to do?” 

“I don’t know, talk to me?” House scowled. “Wait, did you say _I_ stopped coming by? _You’re_ the one who never wanted to do anything when I came over!” 

“You only came over after work! Do you have any idea how much pain I was in after a whole day on my feet? Between that and the pills I couldn’t get it up.” 

Wilson blinked slowly. “Oh.” He leaned back into the sofa cushions. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at House sheepishly. “I had no idea. I thought you were rejecting me.” 

“How could you not know that?” House shouted, getting to his feet. “You _know_ how much Vicodin I was taking! You’re writing the fucking scrips!” He limped to the piano bench to put the instrument between them. “You were never around when I could do it. I thought you were avoiding it. Then you started dating Julie and it wasn’t worth trying to get you back. How was I going to compete with a woman when you’re straight, no matter how good the sex was?” 

“No, it’s just that you didn’t need a ride to work anymore so there wasn’t a reason for me to be here in the mornings… I thought…” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Yeah,” Wilson agreed. “So, what do we do now?” he asked after an awkward pause. 

House looked away. “You’re already here and Julie doesn’t expect you back. Might as well spend the night.” 

“What’s left of it,” Wilson grumbled. 

“You want in my bed or not?” 

“Is it too optimistic to hope that you’ve had time to change the sheets?” 

“I thought you’d do it,” House replied with his trademark smug expression. 

“It’s a damn good thing I love you,” Wilson said with a chuckle, getting up to take care of the chore. “I wouldn’t do this for anyone else!” he shouted from the bedroom. 

“You’d do it for everyone,” House yelled back, though secretly he doubted it. “Did you really just say you loved me?” House asked from the doorway. Wilson turned to look over his shoulder, the edge of the fitted sheet still in his hands. 

“That can’t be a surprise?” 

“Never thought you’d say it,” House mumbled. “Never thought I’d want to hear it.” 

Wilson shrugged and went back to making the bed. “What does Stacy know?” he asked without turning around when it seemed like House wasn’t going to return the sentiment. 

“That you started sucking me off to get me out of bed in the mornings. That I started giving it back after a month. That we’d stopped after three.” 

“Not… the other things?” 

“Didn’t come up,” House replied. Wilson snorted to himself. “It didn’t!” 

“I know. You have a wonderful talent for avoiding things you don’t want to talk about.” Wilson finished with the pillowcases and reached for the blanket he’d left on the floor. “Don’t expect sex tonight.” 

“I know.” 

“Do you?” 

“I might be a dick, but even I know that even though we’ve both showered, she’s too much in our heads to do anything. It’s too soon.” 

Wilson nodded to himself. He bundled the dirty sheets under his arm and left the bedroom to toss them in the laundry basket he’d dragged outside the door. When he returned, House was sitting on the bed, nervously tapping his cane. He sat next to him. 

“So.” 

“So,” House repeated. 

“Do you want me to leave my wife? Move in?” House turned to him with a puzzled expression. “I mean —” 

“You know the answer,” House interrupted. 

“Yeah, I guess I do. I only hope we don’t kill each other.” 

“You keep your dick in one place and we have a shot at it,” House promised. 

Wilson wanted to protest that he hadn’t cheated on his wife, that he hadn’t been with anyone but her since he and House had their affair, _after_ Bonnie left him, he added, but he knew it wouldn’t matter. House would believe him, or not, and his words wouldn’t make the difference either way. House believed in actions. He leaned over and kissed him. 

. 

. 

. 

By the time House’s team called they’d come close to having sex, no matter what they’d decided about Stacy, the kiss becoming kisses, sparking a long-dormant desire that desperately wanted to be satisfied. They were sweaty, naked, thrusting slicked cocks against each other’s bellies when the phone interrupted them. 

“I’ll drive you in,” Wilson said with a sigh as House hung up. 

“Not until we finish this,” House responded, pulling him back down for a greedy kiss. Wilson didn’t protest at all, which told House all he needed to about where things were likely to go between them. Sex. Lots of sex. He didn’t mind in the slightest. 

“One of them might have seen me leave with Stacy,” House said as they crossed the threshold of the hospital. His limp was slightly more pronounced than usual, and while Cameron might notice, only Wilson would know why. “I thought I spotted Chase sneaking around.” 

“Now you tell me,” Wilson groaned. 

“If they ask, she buzzed off and you were bringing me beer,” House suggested, pressing the button for the elevator. “Or I called you for a ride.” 

“All of that is true, except the beer part.” 

“Damn, I’ll have to think of something else.” 

Wilson laughed. “Tell them the truth. They won’t believe you.” 

“It’s none of their business.” 

“Nope,” Wilson agreed. 

“They’ll find out. The whole hospital will.” 

“No one figured it out before.” 

“When you update your address at HR, it’ll fly through this place like wildfire.” 

“I’ve stayed with you before, gotten my mail at your place before.” 

“You ok with people knowing?” 

“I am if you are,” Wilson said. “I’d have to defend our friendship less often if people knew we were doing each other. Though the whole ‘suddenly gay for my best friend' thing is a bit of a cliche.” 

House just shook his head, an affectionate smile on his lips. “Twink,” he said with a leer. 

“I’m too big to be a twink,” Wilson protested. 

“Fine, chicken.” 

“You might be old enough to be a chickenhawk, but I’m not young enough to be a chicken.” 

“Nine years apart makes you a chicken,” House stated. 

“Nowhere on the planet is 38 a chicken!” 

“Fag?” House suggested. 

“Your father’s showing,” Wilson snapped. 

House rolled his eyes. 

“How about James?” Wilson offered. “I won’t presume to call you Greg.” 

“You can, when we’re alone,” House said in a whisper, his cheeks heating. Wilson’s head snapped around. 

“Really?” 

House shrugged, looking embarrassed. “This is new. Maybe it’s time to try something different.” 

“Yeah,” Wilson agreed. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

“But I’m calling you Wilson when we’re at work.” 

“I didn’t expect anything else,” Wilson answered. “It’d be too weird, otherwise.” 

The elevator doors opened. They walked down the corridor side by side, Wilson easily altering his pace to keep time with House as he always did. It was refreshing in its normality. 

“I’m still an asshole,” House declared loudly as they came up to the conference room, catching the attention of his fellows. 

“Your patient better be dying, is all I have to say,” Wilson grumbled, playing along, pushing open the door. “You’re here. Do your thing. I’m going to try to get some of the sleep you interrupted needing a ride when you have a perfectly serviceable death machine you call a bike —” 

“You want me driving when I’m on Vicodin?” House interrupted. 

“You’re _always_ on Vicodin! I’m going to sleep.” 

“Don’t bother,” Foreman said, offering the folder in his hand. “It might be cancer.” 

. 

. 

.


End file.
